He handed me the red blend. I couldn’t possibly read the bottle to decipher the vintage, so I decided to go with the flow. “Are you heading to Monte Carlo to gamble?”
He leaned closer, and the air smelled like him, and my lips ached for his again when he said, “If we’re getting personal, let’s start with names.”
My heart beat a mile a minute. If this was a sin, I’d have to somehow make it to a confessional. My knees trembled as I offered my hand to shake. “Right. I’m Kara Johnson.”
He turned it and kissed my knuckles like I was some queen. “Quentin La Trimouille. Now, let me know your thoughts on this wine.”
Quentin was a cute name, though he’d forever be my wanker. My skin zipped with anticipating carnal activity as I batted my eyes. “My thoughts?”
He stared at my lips, and my libido rose another notch. “How does it taste to you?”
“Yes,” I said and sipped my glass.
He stared at me, and I tamped down the urge to jump over the space between the seats and uncover his family jewels. The visual played out like reality, until the fantasy went up in smoke when he lifted his eyebrow, waiting for me to respond. I sucked my bottom lip to get the flavor. “Like wine?”
He waved his hand in a circle to encourage me. “More detail. Don’t gulp, sip and let your lips greet the drink.”
My lips didn’t want to greet the liquid as much as they ached for more kisses. More of his kisses.
“Are you a wine expert?”
“I pretty much grew up a sommelier.”
No pressure or anything. At the bottle factory for wine, we weren’t allowed to sample. I ignored how my pulse raced.
I swallowed a thought that probably shouldn’t exist and tried again. I met his gaze over the rim of the glass and abandoned my reservations. “Well, there is a wanton recklessness on my lips.”
His brown irises had almost a shine to them until he said, “So the wine makes you… horny?”
My cheeks heated, and I glanced into my drink. “I don’t use words like that.”
He reached across the aisle and brushed his hand on my knee. “But with me, there is an exception clause.”
My lips parted. “There is?”
The train took off. The engine underneath me roared to life, and the vibrations relaxed and excited me.
“Bien sûr. Once we complete what we started.”
I moved my knee from his touch and glanced out the window as the trees started to sway with the train’s increased pace. “I don’t sleep with married men.”
He crossed his legs and waited for me to turn again. I refused, but he finally said, “What I’m thinking doesn’t require sleeping.”
I started this. I ignored how my spine wanted to bend toward this stranger and instead crossed my own legs to hold myself together and sipped my wine. “Okay, I don’t do anything morally suspect with a married man.”
He sipped his own wine and sat back as he studied me. “That’s fine. I’m not married, though American morality confuses me sometimes.”
I’d send a praise up to Jesus right now, but I wouldn’t want him to think I was religious. Instead, I glanced skyward in thanks that I hadn’t committed that horrible of a sin and relaxed my shoulders. “You’re not married?”
“No.” He stared at me.
Right now, I didn’t care what he thought. I needed these answers, so I leaned forward. “Fiancée?”
His eyes widened. “Not anymore.”
I held my stomach and asked, “Girlfriend?”
He stared at me and my chest. I realized just now I’d left my bra in my overnight bag.
“No. I’m leaving Paris alone.”
“Oh.”
He paused, his eyes sweeping my body. “Interesting.” His eyebrows rose. “Your nipples are glorious pebbles, mademoiselle.”
My… what? I sat up. My shirt hadn’t fallen down, had it? I mean I don’t normally wear loose fitting cotton, but then again, I don’t normally travel more than an hour. I tugged on my shirt to somehow hope it covered my pair of twins.
He drank his wine like nothing happened and then said, “And you, Kara?”
I relaxed in my seat, determined to ignore that moment. “Say my name again?”
“Ka-ha,” he said, and I listened closely to every syllable.
I let my shoe slip off my foot so I could sit on it while the train pressed on. My lips tugged upward. “Sounds like you’re laughing at me.”
He tilted his head like I was strange. “What?”
All feeling escaped my face. I probably was crazy. The words and thoughts out of my mouth defied the buttoned-up manager I normally was. I tried to shake off this new wanton inside me and said, “Nothing. How you say my name is very different, but I like it.”
He sipped his wine and stared at me again. “You avoided my question.”
I massaged the sides of my temples. The woman in Paris I’d become was a stranger to me. He’d asked me about myself. I let out a breath and just listed my answers, so he understood we were even. “I didn’t mean to. I’m not married, not engaged anymore, either, currently single, and no children.”
His lips curled into a smile. “You didn’t ask me about children.”
I pushed my hair behind my ears. “Do you have them?”
He scooted closer to me and brushed his finger against my leg, and the cells inside me exploded from his exploration. “Not that I know of.”
At least I wasn’t hurting anyone but myself if I flirted with Mr. Wanker. I wanted to strip the man entirely naked, but instead, ignored how he already owned my body when I held out my glass and said, “Well, it seems we can have more of your wine.”
He took my wineglass and put it beside his as he transitioned and took the seat beside me. “And I can find a reason to kiss you again.”
My body shivered in anticipation. “I’d like that—”
His lips captured mine. I curled into him and never wanted this to stop. His hands caressed my body as we made out to the pulsating motor of the train.
Until I lurched forward, and we both almost fell out of our chairs. He held me steady, but I realized the train no longer lugged forward, and I fixed my clothes that were now a wrinkled mess. “Why did the train stop?”
The windows were all steamed, and I realized my hair was a disaster. I tried to straighten it with my fingers.
“Wait here. I’ll find out.”
I grabbed a mirror out of my bag and looked, touching my swollen lips and flushed cheeks.
Until now I hadn’t realized just how badly I craved sin.
Despite the risk, I hadn’t cared to stop. I was so out of character. Maybe the vacation and meeting Quentin had me on fire. I checked myself to be sure I was still me, and the mirror reflected the same brown eyes I’d always had.
He came back and crooked his finger at me. “Come.”
I closed up my bag while he grabbed his bottle of half-empty wine, and I trailed after him. “Where are we going?”
As I deboarded the train, I realized the passengers had already grabbed their bags. I ran my hand through my hopeless hair and trekked to where my own had been stored when he said, “The train doesn’t go to Monte Carlo today.”